All the forgiven things
by OliveBranchStories
Summary: Merlin has magic, and Arthur knows. But Arthur also understands why he was never told, which makes him all the more surprised when Merlin tells him. One shot.


Another near death experience thanks to a magical beast.

Another sharp blow to a head that made him want to lie down or, as he had already fallen over, not get up.

Another time his idiot manservant assumed he was unconscious.

Another time his idiot manservant used magic to defend the Prince of Camelot; a city personally waging war against sorcerers, with King Uther championing the cause.

Another time his idiot manservant showed he was a sorcerer.

When Arthur had first seen it he was terrified and horrified. He had still thought magic was a weapon of the evil alone and so had thought it was a recent development. Nobody could think that the Merlin he knew was evil, so he figured Merlin had either learnt magic only recently and there had not yet been time for the magic to stretch its sinister tendrils through the idiot's mind and bend it to madness, or Merlin had been possessed.

Arthur hadn't wanted to think that Merlin had chosen to assume the evil art, so he decided Merlin had been possessed.

He went to Gaius, who had been understandably alarmed. But then when Gaius asked Arthur what signs of possession Merlin had been exhibiting and Arthur had replied with 'magic,' Gaius' face did a strange thing. It stayed exactly the same, but Arthur had been watching Gaius lie his entire life so he could tell. Even though there was no sign, he could tell.

So when Gaius made shocked stammering's and needed to sit down and Arthur got his chair for him, he glared into the back of Gaius' head. He knew Gaius was lying when he said he agreed with Arthur and that Merlin must be possessed. Distracted, thinking about the lies the old man was weaving, Arthur wasn't paying the closest of attentions when Gaius continued, asking,

'What exactly did Merlin do with magic?'

Before he could register what he was saying Arthur replied,

'He saved my life.'

Lying awake at night Arthur realised he now had, as far as he could see, three potential truths.

Option 1: Merlin had magic, so Merlin was evil. (Arthur winced at the thought.)

But this couldn't be true, not after the years of loyal service…and friendship. He'd drunk poison for him; that wasn't the sort of thing evil people generally do.

He could've learnt it recently, but Arthur still couldn't believe that the Merlin he'd known all of these years would suddenly decide to practise an evil art. He behaved exactly the same; he still dropped Arthur's eggs when getting him breakfast or purposefully let him go out into the castle with his shirt on inside out because Arthur had been, in Merlin's opinion, overly rude when hung-over.

And he still leapt into the line of fire for Arthur. Sure there hadn't been any life-threatening situations since Arthur had seen Merlin's…no…_the _magic, but when Arthur's uncle Agravaine had been reaming him out in front of the entire court Merlin 'tripped' and spilt red wine all of the man's coat. Arthur knew Merlin was clumsy, but he had also seen Merlin's expression when Agravaine had started at Arthur, and he had seen the way Merlin was going to walk in front of Agravaine instead of behind him like he had the past dozen times he had crossed the room. Merlin spent the rest of the day in the stocks for that, but Agravaine had stopped criticising Arthur's leadership in front of those who were meant to follow him.

So no, Merlin was not, could not be, evil.

Option 2: Merlin had magic, so Merlin was possessed.

Whilst this kept Merlin's slate clean it made another problem. Yes he'd been possessed, but the sorcerer who'd possessed him had saved Arthur's life. They'd thrown themselves into harm's way to save Arthur's life. And Arthur knew about possession, he'd discussed it enough with Gaius. Even though the possessor may still have their original body alive and well somewhere, if the body they inhabited died whilst they were still possessing it their mind died with it. Therefore it could not have been some sinister plot to possess Merlin to get close to Arthur, because the sorcerer put their life at risk to save him which would've obviously been counterproductive in more ways than one to any kill-Arthur or kill-Uther plans.

Option 3: Merlin had magic, but Merlin wasn't evil.

Merlin had undeniably used magic, and he wasn't evil. So if the magic had, indeed, been his own, then surely the magic by extension was not evil.

But everything Arthur had been taught! His father's years of speeches; logical, thought out arguments about the malevolence of magic. Magic users who had attacked Camelot because they were evil (it had nothing to do with grief riddled parents seeking justice for murdered children, it had nothing to do with oppressed people fighting for their freedom.)

Years of lessons taught over the executioners block. Instructions about justice from a King washing his hands of the blood and ashes of burning people.

Arthur had to choose; either his father was a tyrant who had committed genocide, or Merlin was a traitorous liar who was an amazingly good actor.

Either his father was right and Merlin was ev…misled, or Merlin was right and his father was ev…wrong.

His father…his father who had crushed the leaf that was to save Merlin's life after the servant had knowingly, willingly, deliberately drunk poison for him.

That proved it.

There was no other possible truth;

Magic was not evil.

And when he came to that conclusion, reluctantly Arthur realised that if magic was not evil then Merlin would have no qualms with using it and, as Gaius had been _lying _when he agreed that Merlin was possessed, Merlin also had magic.

It was like a blow to the stomach. Arthur sat up in bed, hands fisting but with nothing to hit, fisting around empty air.

Feeling confused is frustrating, but sometimes understanding can feel even worse.

His gut was screaming at the betrayal. Merlin had magic and hadn't told him. Even if he knew magic wasn't evil, Merlin had still defied the laws and defied Arthur, who was the Prince- the law, behind a smile and banter and clumsy incompetence.

He had lied he had lied he had lied to Arthur.

Feeling sick Arthur swung his feet out of the bed and put them to the stone floor. The shock of cold that run up from the soles of his feet broke a direct path to his heart for understanding through his screaming emotions.

Arthur _understood _why Merlin had lied. He wanted to hate him, he wanted to feel justified in hating him, but he couldn't. Of course Merlin hadn't told him. Arthur was the son of the murderer of Merlin's kind; Arthur was part of the ruling family which decided any who had or used magic were to be put to death.

Arthur remembered making speeches about magic, not like his father, who was filled with self-righteousness and spoke in an echoing voice above crowds of his subjects. No. Arthur made speeches in the night after a long, painful day, muttered words filled with the grief of his mother's death, with his only subject being Merlin.

Magical Merlin who had stood there and listened as Arthur hissed murderous words into the darkness.

Magical Merlin who hadn't turned sour or run away…

Magical Merlin who understood Arthur's pain and forgave him for it, because if he didn't forgive him he would never be able to help him.

Just as Arthur was now going to have to understand Merlin's fear and forgive him for it in turn.

Now that Arthur was aware that Merlin was magic, he saw it everywhere.

He saw it in the way Merlin would smile knowingly at him about something he shouldn't know, how Merlin started the fire too quickly or knew when someone was in trouble.

Saw it particularly in when, in a show he must've planned with Gaius, his 'possessor' left him in a great magical flourish in front of Arthur, leaving a sheepish and confused, 'what-just-happened?'-asking Merlin behind.

Saw it in how Merlin always survived, Arthur always survived, and how, when Arthur was hurting, Merlin always knew exactly what to say.

No, actually, that last one was just Merlin.

And now he knew of Merlin's fear of his magic being revealed, Arthur saw why everywhere. And he found that when he knew of it, when he imagined that Merlin's fear was his own, he understood it, and it was enough to stop his heart.

In the prowling suspicion that crawled through Camelot like a sickness.

In his father's speeches, hissed from the throne. The king's word is law, and the king had time only for murderous words instructing genocide.

In the pyre built to burn; a horrible, long, excruciating death that Arthur couldn't think of without his skin crawling, couldn't think of without wanting to run and make sure Merlin was okay no matter where he was or who he was with. (Merlin lit fires with no fear; he made patterns with glowing coals and poked them with a stick until the end was burning. But he'd had seen him get burnt accidently once; Merlin had tripped and put his hand in the fire. Arthur hadn't understood at the time, but now he knew why Merlin's expression had surpassed pain and gone into something else, a wild and desperate horror made all the worse by Merlin having to hide it behind a few jokes and false smiles because of who he was with.)

The pyre was no longer a method of execution to Merlin; it was personal, it had a will of its own. It was a cruel beast, unrelentingly slinking forwards that never slept, that couldn't be denied or avoided or hidden from, and it wanted nothing more than to have Merlin in its jaws to play with and torture and burn and burn and burn.

With every sorcerer, sorceress and magical beast that attacked Camelot, Arthur saw Merlin's desperation rising. He saw the way Merlin looked at people as they looked at magic. He saw the way Merlin averted his eyes and inhaled his fear.

And with a hidden hurt and sympathy Arthur saw Merlin watching Arthur's hands after he'd slain the sorcerer, sorceress and magical beasts. Saw the way Merlin didn't want to clean the blood off his sword, and indeed it was the only task that Arthur had to order Merlin to do every time it needed doing.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to touch his sword either, not after the heat of battle. Not when he realised, just as he knew Merlin must have realised, that sometimes this could've been avoided.

Yes some of the people who attacked Camelot did so for power, out of hate, and Arthur felt no more qualms with killing them out of defence for his people then he would in killing a knight would wanted to put a knife to throat of Camelot.

But many of the times what drove these people to attack Camelot was their grief at lost loved ones, or their pain in oppression. They had twisted these things to justify revenge, revenge which is so senseless and will never achieve anything but the quickening of the wheel of war. Revenge that is so often the cause of the pain and death in people who the perpetrator didn't even want revenge on, didn't even _know_.

Arthur only killed in self-defence or the defence of others, but it pained him inside when what he had to defend himself against was caused by the hatred of his father, when without the hatred of his father these people would've never wanted revenge, and no one need have died.

There was a spout of executions. Uther had found a small family of druids and was executing the five of them, one a day, to make an example. Before the knowledge became public Arthur sent Merlin out of the city on some fool's errand, knowing that if he remained Merlin would try and free them and get himself killed, or worse, in the process.

When Merlin returned a week later he learnt within the hour about the executions. Within the hour he was yelling and crying to Gaius that he could've saved them. Arthur knew this happened because he'd hidden outside of their quarters to listen, like a child or a thief. A thief stealing honesty because he knew he wouldn't be trusted with it.

Merlin had started, speaking low and fast, saying how 'Arthur knew, that's why he sent me away. He knew and he didn't want me to argue with him, he didn't want me to save them. He knew I would, he knew it was wrong and I wouldn't tolerate it _like he would _and he sent me away!'

Something made of glass exploded and Gaius was yelling and Merlin was yelling then he was crying and the injustice had cut him to the bone. Arthur slunk down to the end of the corridor, feeling so guilty it was like there was a great black ocean in his chest, with no bottom and no end and no white sail boat to sit in and no distant scrap of an island for his drowning mind to aim for.

_Why did he do it? Why did he do it?_ _How had he thought it was the right thing to do?_

Arthur stayed to make sure nobody came past the physician's quarters before Merlin could get himself under control and stop yelling treasonous things that would get both he and Gaius killed.

In the following days Merlin was silent and watchful, like a dog that has been struck and waits for the next blow. It was unnerving because Arthur felt himself being judged and he felt himself slipping. His actions had been damning, his inactions had been damning. In allowing the executions he had condoned them. In condoning them he was nothing more than a murderer. _What had he done?_

One night when Arthur ordered Merlin to leave the manservant went to the door, in his usual unusually-quiet way. Before he left Merlin turned and said,

"You know it was wrong."

"Yes," Arthur leant against the window, finding no strength in the stone.

"You let it happen anyway."

"Yes," Arthur lowered his head, even the moon's light to bright for his eyes.

"You knew they were innocent."

Arthur turned his head but found he didn't have the energy to look at Merlin. There were black waters in his minds eye.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Arthur looked at Merlin. The silver moonlight threw Merlin's shadow against the door, just as it threw Arthur's shadow to the floor between them. The shadow of his head rested wearily on Merlin's worn boots.

Arthur didn't know why; but he did, he just didn't want to admit it.

"My father…"

Merlin made a low, furious sound, like the deep cracking beneath a glacier before it all comes crashing down.

"Your father often says that it's the unchecked power of the sorcerers that corrupts."

Merlin stepped back, ridding himself from the last of Arthur's shadow.

"Who is checking his power? It's supposed to be you."

Uther's self-righteousness was nothing before Merlin; whatever motivation had made Arthur stand behind his father was trembling beneath Merlin's judgement.

Merlin knew how heavily the crown weighed on Arthur's head, he understood and had sympathy and normally saw it as his job to try and lessen the weight of a world Arthur had never wanted. But now Merlin couldn't support Arthur's actions, not when he knew right from wrong, moral from immoral and both knew Arthur knew the same. Merlin placed Arthur's responsibility on his shoulders and Arthur found he couldn't bear the strain.

"You betrayed your people that day, Arthur."

Merlin left and Arthur didn't know if he'd ever see him again.

But he did. The next morning and, unbelievably, Merlin was back, dripping boiled eggs all over the floor even though he'd have to clean later. He was still subdued, as was the Prince; but Merlin had returned. Banter or no, that simple fact did something strange but great to Arthur's heart.

"I'll do better," Arthur said when Merlin had knelt to wipe up the floor and succeeding only in spreading the mess. Merlin responded with a joke and Arthur looked away.

He knew Merlin; if Merlin had believed Arthur would do better he would have said so, would've shouted it to the heavens if given the chance.

He had returned; there was a white sail boat of Merlin's incomprehensible faith in Arthur on the ocean inside of him. But there was no wind in the boats sails, nowhere it had to be.

Merlin was never going to tell Arthur he was magic, wasn't he?

Maybe Arthur should confront Merlin about it. Tell him he knew. It would certainly make life a lot easier, and also probably a lot safer, for Merlin and Arthur. If Merlin didn't leave out of fear for his life, that was.

Arthur couldn't do it. If he told Merlin he knew it would be tantamount to asking Merlin trust him. Arthur would protect him; they could joke about magic, talk about magic. Arthur would confront his father about the injustices of his sentences to magic users, and then he and Merlin both would break out convicted magicians when Arthur's words failed.

But all he had were his words which, as Merlin had shown earlier, didn't mean very much on their own. And Arthur didn't think he could bear it if Merlin decided to leave, so he stayed quiet and waited from a chance to prove, with his actions, that he had changed. That Merlin could trust him. That Arthur would watch Merlin's back to protect him, and not in seeking the best chance to put a knife in it.

But it turned out that they didn't need something to happen before Arthur could prove his worth and reveal that he knew. Because before such a catalyst arrived, Merlin was there, knocking on his door, asking to come into the chambers he'd burst unceremoniously into that very morning. Arthur was at his window again, so he turned to leant on the stonework facing into the room. Merlin had his hands in front of him, not twisting nervously but palms grinding into each other. He wasn't stumbling or ranting in fear, but his deliberate actions showed how he was making a conscious effort to appear, and be, calm.

Arthur was so sure Merlin was going to ask to leave, so sure that Merlin had decided that being a civilian of Camelot was too risky under Pendragon rule, let alone being a sorcerer in the city.

Then his hand was coming up and Arthur knew a split second before it happened and he was staggering forwards to clutch onto his desk a split second before the fire had even started in Merlin's palm.

The night was clear and bright, just like the night when Merlin had told Arthur he had betrayed his people. But the fire lit the cool blue room with the gold and red of Camelot. And though Merlin had said, essentially, though using different words, that Arthur could not be trusted, here he was, trusting him. His eyes had been on the flames, but now Merlin looked up at Arthur and Arthur looked back into golden eyes. He was saying things, listen Arthur, it would be important,

"Magic isn't evil, Arthur, it depends on the person who uses it. And I didn't choose it, I was born like this. Like you were born a prince, I was born a warlock. Surely you can't condemn me for something I didn't choose?"

They were still looking at each other, Arthur wanted to sit down but found he couldn't quite remember how.

Merlin was _trusting _him? Merlin was trusting _him_? After everything that happened, everything that hadn't happened, and he was here with his fire and his magic and his trust and he was _trusting him_?

"I was thinking about how to explain it to you. I was going to say that magic is like a sword, dependent on the will that wields it, but that isn't accurate," seemingly just for something to do with his other hand Merlin flicked it through the flames, they didn't burn him.

"A sword can be used for good or for evil, but either way it can only kill. Magic can be used for good and evil, but it can do so much more than just kill. You were just…never given the chance to see it. Everyone who would use magic for good didn't want to kill, and so they ran as far and as fast from Camelot as they could, leaving only the murderers behind. And generally murderers make pretty bad examples."

Merlin was walking towards Arthur's desk, fire no longer in his hands yet the room filled with its light anyway, where Arthur was still leaning thinking vague thoughts about trying to look like less of an idiot. Reaching the vase of dead flowers he had put there a few days ago Merlin touched one hand to the vase, which filled itself with water, and the other hand to very, very gently brush the stem and petals of the flowers, the roses, which at his touch came to life. The water rushed up the stem which straightened and greened. The petals regained their shape and their red/yellow flecked colour and damn him; Merlin planned this!

Arthur remembered talking to Merlin this morning about those flowers just that morning, telling him to get rid of them, Merlin had said he would but then distracted Arthur with cajoling comments about his weight when Arthur had reached to grab the vase and dump its contents on his manservants head.

Damn him and his…premeditated flower resuscitation. Well, he wasn't the only one who could do something impressive.

Arthur straightened up, (that wasn't the impressive bit,) and walked over to where his armour and sword hung ready for the next day. Merlin's eyes followed him but he didn't move. Arthur picked up his sword, flicking the scabbard off into the corner of the room. He walked back to Merlin, holding it slightly above waste height, one side gleaming blue from the moon and the other golden-red from the light that still filled the room, though Arthur didn't know how or where from. He saw Merlin look at the blade, the tip sharpened by his own hands to a razor edge, Arthur's hands and Arthur's eyes. And Merlin didn't move other than to pull his hands back from the vase to hang by his side.

Was there a limit to this man's faith? Would Arthur have to run him through before Merlin stopped believing in him?

But that wasn't the plan; the plan wasn't to test Merlin. And the plan was _certainly _not to hurt him. The plan was to do something symbolic of both Arthur's trust and his trustworthiness, and this was the best he could think of on a spur of the moment. Turning, Arthur moved away from Merlin, stepped to his window (thankfully open, it would've been awkward trying to be symbolic like this with a closed window) and threw his sword out.

It fell, doing half a rotation before hitting the, thankfully empty, courtyard below; a series of sharp, ringing notes sounding off the blade. A metallic crack informed Arthur that the thin sword tip hadn't survived the impact.

The clattering stopped and the echoes faded and Arthur, breathing- just…breathing, turned back around.

Merlin stood there with…damn him and his raised eyebrows!

"Please tell me no-one was in the courtyard…"

"No-one was in the courtyard."

"Oh, that's a relief," but Merlin came over to the window to check all the same. Arthur made a scoffing breath of a sound. So Merlin trusted him not to betray his magic to his father or run him through himself, but didn't trust Arthur's word on whether or not there were people in the courtyard. Idiot. Stupid magical trusting idiot with his idiocy and his trust.

Arthur really needed to sit down at some stage in the near future.

"You know I spent ages sharpening that, don't you?"

"Yes," Arthur replied. What was going on? Shouldn't they be saying deep and meaningful things about magic and Camelot and revolution?

"I don't know the condition swords are generally in after being thrown out a castle window, but I'm guessing you are going to need a new one."

Arthur glared at him.

"Lucky I know just the place," Merlin grinned, Arthur glar-wait, he was already doing that.

"What do you mean?"

Merlin tapped his nose aggravatingly,

"Mysterious warlock, remember?" Merlin looked out the window again, "But still, why did you…?" He quickly pulled his head back in when a guard appeared to investigate the noise, lest the man look up, see him and arrest him for throwing the Prince's sword out of the window.

Arthur scoffed again. Arrested! Wouldn't want that!

"It was supposed to be symbolic!" Arthur defended himself. "To show I… you know…" Arthur just realised why they hadn't been saying deep and meaningful things. He was rubbish at it.

"…I trust you and…you can trust me…"

Merlin looked at him and said,

"I can't say I don't appreciate the sentiment but was it really necessary to throw your sword out the window? I'll be honest, that wasn't exactly the reaction…"

"I've known about your magic for a while now," Arthur stated. Hah, that showed Merlin. The manservant's expression snapped from disrespectful disbelief to being taken aback.

"I didn't think you'd ever trust me enough to tell me, so that," Arthur waved at the window, "shows that…I value your trust and…you know…you…" (Arthur said 'you' in such a way that Merlin dryly said, 'Please, Arthur, try to contain your emotion') "Shut up! I was _saying _that I value _you_ over my father's pride. I know magic isn't evil, not if you have it. And so that means my father is wrong and I won't…I won't support him in his… persecution of people for, innocent people, for something they didn't choose."

Arthur felt very awkward but wanted to somehow put a word to the feelings that seemed to be spilling out of him, even though he didn't quite understand a lot of them.

"Basically…I don't think magic is evil, I think my father is wrong and I…it means a lot that even though I knew you trusted me enough to tell me."

There, that wasn't so bad. Oh damn, Merlin was hugging him. Hug him back you idiot.

Merlin let him go and Arthur whacked his shoulder to cover up that he didn't know what to do with his hands even after the hug had finished. Merlin didn't seem to appreciate it.

"I will, that is…I said the other day that I'm going to do better, by everyone, magical or not…and I meant it, I mean it. I will do better."

"I know."

And then Merlin was hugging him again, all forgiveness and trust. Somehow understanding that Arthur wanted to express forgiveness and trust as well but didn't quite know, after a lifetime of hiding his feelings, how to do it in a hug, and somehow Arthur knew that Merlin knew.

What on earth…? It was like some sort of weird hug-telepathy.

There was a surprising strength in Merlin. He was skin and bones, making him awkward to embrace even for Arthur who still didn't exactly know what to do with his hands, but Merlin's passion showed that the awkwardness didn't matter. The past didn't matter. The lies, the fear, all the forgiven things couldn't touch them; all that mattered was their forgiveness.

After all, how could it not when because of and, indeed, with forgiveness, they were going to change the world.


End file.
